“My bloody hands that hold on to faith. Learned that we grow with pain and not age.”

I think I may be in way over my head. I’ll learn how to breathe underwater instead.

I have a habit of seeing through the cloak that they wear to hide what truly resides in their soul. I have a habit of tearing out skeletons from the blackest of closets; although it’s never the goal. I have a habit of forcing others to look in the mirror, at the darkest parts of their soul. And I no longer want to play the role.

I think we all long for someone we can be disgustingly honest with, and for them to love us anyway, and stay.

So what do we say to each other is the language of unspoken? The words are sweet; the space is bitter or is this just the them I’ve chosen.

Be aware of the judgments that you and others conjure. The words reflect the inner world; the doctrines that you sponsor.

Our interpretations reflect our imperfections. We will always read between the lines, but we decide what we choose to find.

Only after you have fallen to the pits of despair, can you fly to the horizon of hope.

I survived because the fire I have inside me burns brighter than the fire that surrounds me forever thriving with blazing vitality.

Sobriety is something I’ll never reach. There’s always another day, another urge to defeat.

How do we trust others when we can’t even trust ourselves?

Trust is an illusion. A systematically flawed word. A total forgery of a statement. Trust assumes infallibility – without errors, mistakes, or fuck ups.

Trust assumes loyalty; and loyalty in the true sense of the word, the infinite, devoted kind of loyalty – that kind of loyalty doesn’t exist anymore.

Trust insinuates that the human race is unfailing, faultless, flawless, and perfect.

I can feel her resurrecting. The one he thought he had killed. Strength realised in her resting. It was worth all the blood spilled.

Evil exists in the shadows of our world and I’m realizing that without the darkness there would be no light. We need both to stay alive.

The child within; raised voice; fast heart; flinches. Flight response, with an attitude and broken hinges. The child within; tiptoes; eggshells. Heaven; hell. Still, she finds a quiet place, safe and tranquil; dwell.

I don’t know what the big deal is about old age. Old people who shine from the inside look 10 to 20 years younger.

I enjoy the spring more than the autumn now. One does, I think, as one gets older.

You will never age for me, nor fade, nor die.

Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age.

Madness is something rare in individuals – but in groups, parties, peoples, and ages, it is the rule.

Look at the bright side no matter how old you are, you are younger than you’ll ever be again.

A man’s age is something impressive, it sums up his life.

With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.